Clubs
by Riddicksbabe
Summary: A young woman in search of her place in life, but she meets up with a few interesting characters on the way. What sort of trouble will they run into? Incomplete (Some adult language-no Jack or Imam yet, maybe never)
1. Section 1:Elise

PART I:  
  
1.1  
  
1.2 Section 1: Elise  
  
  
  
A loud squawking sound echoed through the ship depot before the sound of a monotone voice said, "Will the following please step forward onto the platform 4 to your right. Norman Lemmingham, Gregory Schiestler, Liam Norway, Elise Molson, and Melinda Singer. All passengers should be aboard Ship four in 10 minutes. Notice to all, ticket offices one, seven, and eight are closing for the evening. Thank you."  
  
"Jesus, they can transport 30 people across the fucking galaxy in a ship the size of a trailer, but they can't create a sound system that doesn't squeal any less than pigs in a hog race."  
  
"Uh-yuh, well, at least we can leave now. I'm tired of sitting on this fucking bench. My ass feels like it was whacked a good one instead of just sitting here." A middle aged women, with naturally red hair and died blond streaks in her bangs, stood up, stretching as she did. A small glimpse of her slim figure could be seen as her shirt pulled taut against her ribs.  
  
"You go ahead, I've gotta go to the bathroom."  
  
"Just hurry up." Melinda stalked off, dragging the pulley with her bags on it behind her uncomfortably.  
  
Instead of going to the bathroom, I, Elise, went over to the snack stand to buy some aspirin. Melinda was nice, but she could talk your ear off. At the time, I couldn't help but wonder why I was even going through with this. Spending four months on a ship with five other people, including the pilot, was not what I had in mind when my school decided to send me on "the opportunity of a lifetime". At least I met Melinda. Maybe it won't be as bad as I thought. But still, four months and with no cryo-sleep can seem like four years. And what's the point anyways, I already know how to pilot and maintain a ship. I don't see why they just can't put us under until we reach Bisham. I knew though. I had 2 reasons for going and I couldn't live with myself if I passed them up. I swallowed 3 pills and stepped away from the counter. Passing from one end of the platform to the other was difficult what with luggage from the hundreds of others waiting to leave scattered across the warped planks.  
  
Looking at the city worn faces of all those people, I wasn't sorry I was leaving that particular city. The people were tired zombies who worked as much as possible to keep up with the heavy taxes demanded by the Company. Working age was brought down to 12 about 25 years ago, and half the children could get their education at home on their computers, so going and getting a job at the close-enough age of 10 wasn't uncommon. Not to mention all of the kids thrown into underground slavery. At one time the city had been beautiful, or so I heard. But that was before the Company came and took over. Even then it wasn't too bad, but then the Company had to go and get a big ol' stick up its ass.  
  
Hardly anyone cared about electives, not even the school board. They felt they had enough work on their hands dealing with the some 2 million kids going to school in their district alone. I was lucky, my school consisted of the bare minimum amount of children, which gave me the off chance that I could get somewhere. Our school had more to offer than anywhere else in the city. Not that my foster parents cared, they just liked it cause it meant I would be leaving sooner. Luckily, or unfortunately depending on which way you look at it, I refrained from going away to college for one more year so I could make some more money. If I had left, my parents would have taken the call from the school board, and I wouldn't be on my way to Bisham on the other side of the galaxy.  
  
Bisham is considered a "new planet". Only discovered nearly a century ago, not many live on it yet. It's like the suburbs, a little out of the way, but nice and comfortable. One thing separates it from the rest, it's got the most incredible space and science center in the 3 surrounding galaxies. That's where I'm going to be trained on the most innovative and new techniques for today's scientific discoveries. Training aboard this small ship is just for the purpose of me being able to control my own personal craft in the future.  
  
The people at Bisham Tech. wanted a student untouched by training from other sources, but he or she would have had to be the best in every class he/she took. They also would have to have perfect scores in the Math and Science, especially physics, courses. Bisham Tech. is a great part of going along with this, but I plan on using this as my way to tap into ADA. That is the Academy for Developing Arts. School has never been very interesting for me, but writing has. If I have a chance at going further in my writing career, I'll drop Bisham Tech. in a flash.  
  
My short blond hair swung aimlessly across my face as I bent to place my bags through the x-ray machine in front of the door to the ship. A creaky, rundown thing, I wondered if it even worked, or was it just there to intimidate people into giving up any ideas of hijacking. I stepped up onto the ship and made my way to the bunk chambers. The ship was much larger than I had expected. Cleaner too. The metal looked waxed and the floor scrubbed. Everything was neat and orderly. No wires hung from the ceiling and there were no missing panels in the walls. At first I figured it looked bigger only because it was kept clean, but as I walked down the hall to my right I realized it would have to be of moderate size to have so many rooms. Hell, I might even get my own room. I had promised to bunk with Melinda if there was need to, but that wasn't too exciting of an idea to me. Melinda was at least 40, and I 19, but sometimes Melinda seemed more like the adolescent.  
  
As I walked down the hall I heard voices in a room to my left. The narrow door was open some, so I peaked in. Two men I didn't recognize were in the dim room. One, a giant by the size of him, was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The one standing, a midget compared to the other, looked exhausted by the argument they were having. Something about fuel and the cost of the trip.  
  
"God damn it Richardson! Just use the fuel from Jeff's pumps! It's cheaper."  
  
"You don't understand, his fuel burns twice as fast as what I have in there now. With a trip this long, if the fuel isn't reliable, anything could go wrong." Richardson now stood up and came over to the smaller man, "I won't risk it. You can forget about Jeff's fucking fuel." I wasn't sure if my mind was playing tricks on me, but suddenly the phrase, "menacing look" was very literal. His eyes seemed to have a bright gleam of their own. I realized suddenly that he must have gotten a "shine-job" done on them. It's a job most often done in prisons where the prisoners aren't supposed to see daylight again. The shine allows the prisoners to see in the dark so no one can sneak up on them. How interesting.  
  
"Don't you dare try and intimidate me you piece of shit. I gave you this job as a favor to Linda. If you do so much as look at me wrong with those fucked up eyes of yours, then you're off this ship and the trip is cancelled." At this Richardson backed off. "Ahhh…yeah, that's right. This is the trip you've been waiting for, for a long time isn't it. Fine, we won't use Jeff's, but you better be right about the quality of this fuel or someone is going to be burned for it." The smaller man exited through a doorway to his left, slamming the door as he went.  
  
Richardson gave a soft, meditated exhale through his noise and turned to the counter behind him. I could certainly sympathize with him, the other man seemed like a real dick. "Why don't you come in and introduce yourself?" I stood frozen in surprise. Duh, he was turned so far toward me he might as well have been staring right at me. I'm such a nitwit. How could I be so stupid to actually look in on them anyways?  
  
"I'm, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just wanted to ask you if you knew where I should put my things." Stuttering! What am I, some child with a crush? He's not that big. Although, his arms can't even hang properly at his sides because of his muscles.  
  
"Don't worry about it." His voice was low and soothing. Was everything about him soft and meditated? Even his movements carried poise and deliberation. "Prisoner" didn't fit him well. He gave a slight indication with his head, "Why don't you come in where I can see all of you."  
  
This must be the pilot. I didn't prepare to meet him under such tense circumstances, but he seems nice enough. Better that I meet him now than never. I pushed open the door, grateful that it didn't squeal, and stepped in. "Hi, I'm Elise Molson. And you must be the captain?"  
  
He smiled wanly, "that I am. The name's Brock Richardson." He reached out his large hand to meet my smaller one. "You're my trainee right?"  
  
Something about that name seemed familiar to me. But how? I knew I had never met him before. I'd have to think about it later. "Nice to meet you, yeah, that's right. I know a lot about ships already though. I used to live on one with some other people. But you can't tell anyone that. I'm not supposed to have any training already." Yeah, that's right Elise, be cool. How natural it seemed to lie about that. Well, it wasn't lying, just not telling the whole truth.  
  
"What model?" I noticed for the first time that we were in a kitchen of some sort. Everything was outlined in plastic made to look like wood. I was surprised, since usually those type of jobs cost major bucks. Then he went into a "wood" framed cabinet over a counter and by pushing in a latch at the bottom, he opened it. Inside were cans upon cans of coffee.  
  
"Umm…BJ460 from the Alknyne series. It was a tremendously heavy thing though. It was old too, so it was much harder to handle because of delayed action time. I'm looking forward to using…" He opened the two cabinets on either side of the first one to reveal two more kinds of coffee. "Is all that coffee necessary?"  
  
He gave a stifled laugh. "Staying awake is awfully hard when you're out there for 4 months. Especially when your body is expecting to go into cryo-sleep at any moment."  
  
"Oh, I see. Does this ship even have a cryo-generator?"  
  
"No, it's made for short trips within a certain area. It can handle long trips just as well, it's the people that can't handle it."  
  
"Yes, well," Was it just me, or did he seem to have something against other people? "There is only so much a person can do in a limited area. I'm not sure if I'll be comfortable spending 4 months onboard with only 5 other people including yourself." More lies, more lies.  
  
"Actually there will be a sixth person. My copilot Manny. He's a hothead, but he can fly if I get in trouble and he knows the way to Bisham better than anyone. Besides, a long trip like this will require more maintenance than normal."  
  
"That's fine by me. So, do you know where I can put my things?" I realized Melinda might be having a heart attack now if she thought I still wasn't on board. I wanted to go find her. And maybe not by accident slip about how interesting the pilot was.  
  
"There are ten rooms on this ship, you can have any one of them, although my recommendation is the one across from this room. You may not drink coffee now, but soon you will, and then you'll find out that 7 people and 1 coffee maker don't mix well."  
  
Making a joke, somehow I didn't see that coming from him. "Thanks, I'll take it under consideration. Uh, it was nice to meet you." I gave a quick wave with my hand and stepped out.  
  
Deciding to take his advice, I opened the door to the room right across from the kitchen. I gave the command, "Lights on". The inside was incredibly nice. There were drawers built into the wall and a counter with raised sides so nothing would fall off. I walked further in and through my bags onto the bed. I noticed it was a real bed too, not just a glorified cot. The head was against the far side of the room and the side on the right wall. There was a nightstand, which looked attached to the floor and wall behind it. Two doors were next to the nightstand. I opened the first and saw that it was my own personal bathroom. I never expected that. It was small but fully loaded with a tub/shower, toilet, sink and mirror. Towels had even been placed on the shelf above the toilet. I pulled the shower curtain back and saw that there were 4 hotel-sized bars of soap and 4 bottles of shampoo/conditioner.  
  
I walked out and opened the other door. It was a small closet with a shelf and rod. I couldn't wait to talk to Melinda about my room. Just then someone knocked on the door. It was open and when I turned around I saw that it Gregory Schiestler. I remembered him from the depot. He was a tall, lanky man with a stubble beard. He always slumped his shoulders and hung his head some. He seemed like a nervous man, his hands were working constantly at scrunching the material of his day robe. The material looked quite expensive and it was all wrinkled from his frisky hands. "Can I help you Mr. Schiestler?"  
  
"Uh, Ms. Molson, well I was wondering if you, might switch rooms with me. Mine's all the way at the end of the hall and so it's awfully far from the bathroom."  
  
"You mean the kitchen."  
  
"No, the bathroom. I need to be near a bathroom because of my bladder problem."  
  
Oh jeez, to much information Mr.…So I had taken a really good room. Now that was interesting. "I'm really sorry Mr. Schiestler, but I've already begun to unpack my things. Also, I feel more comfortable being near the emergency doors. Maybe another person will be more considerate for you." All my bags lay unpacked on the bed, but he didn't need to know that.  
  
"That's all right. I understand. And you can call me Greg or Gregory, which ever you prefer."  
  
I smiled. "Thank you, I'll do that. And the names Elise." He closed the door as he left. I realized suddenly that Mr. Richardson was the one who had recommended this room. I began thinking that maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.  
  
  
  
Elise left the room, closed the door and walked down the hall, looking for Melinda as she went. She saw an empty room and went in to see if it was any different from hers. It was. The room was much smaller with only 4 drawers instead of 6 like hers, and there was no counter. There was one door, which led to a 2x2 closet with no shelf. Suddenly she felt a great sense of relief for not switching rooms. These ones were crap compared to her little suite. "Not much to these rooms, is there?" Melinda came into the room with her finely tanned arms crossed against her chest.  
  
"Yeah, but it's weird cause mine isn't anything like this. I even have a bathroom in mine. The lighting's way better too. Is this how yours is?"  
  
"Uh-huh. It's all right though, I'm used to it. I've been on crafts like this before. And besides, this is actually much better than some of the shit holes I've seen." She walked slowly over to the bed and sat down. The bed creaked uneasily, new or not.  
  
"Remember Gregory Schiestler from the depot?" She took a second then nodded her head. "Well, he came into my room asking to switch with me. He said something about having a bladder problem. Anyways, I lied and told him I was afraid to be far away from the emergency doors. Do you think that was wrong?"  
  
"Hell no, I wouldn't give it up for shit."  
  
"I thought maybe I wasn't alone there. Sorry I didn't try and find you when I first got on board, I met the pilot and-"  
  
At that the intercom came on and a voice rang throughout the ship. "Would the passengers please report to the hull of the ship to prepare for launch."  
  
The two left the room and walked out into the hall to join the other passengers on their way to the hull. When they reached the body of the ship they were met by a man with spiked blond hair and soft build. He had a handsome face, but it was tainted with faint scars from battles and bar fights of the past. "Hello folks, I'm your copilot. You can just call me Manny."  
  
"So this is Manny", Elise thought. "Not bad looking, could lose the gun at his side though."  
  
"I'm assuming you've all done this before. Just strap yourselves into the seats here. Brock wants you to go to the front." Manny pointed to Elise and made a motion with his head to indicate she should step around him into the cabin.  
  
  
  
"Ok." How does he know that I met the pilot already? I opened the door softly and came in. Only the top of his shaved head was visible over the seat.  
  
"Come over here and strap yourself into the copilots seat. Your lessons start now."  
  
He told me some of the basics I already knew and then a couple of more complex things I didn't. This ship was highly more advanced than the one I was on before. I was surprised at how jacked up everything was. It made me wonder how anyone could, or would want to, spend that much on a small ship like this. There was a smooth takeoff and in less than ten minutes he took the radio off the dashboard to report that everyone could un-strap and get comfortable.  
  
I took the opportunity to thank him for the room. "That was really nice of you to tell me about that room. I noticed it's a lot better than the others." I wasn't quite sure if he knew how nice it was…or if he had one of the rooms like the other ones.  
  
"Actually, you shouldn't thank me. That was your assigned room. I guess you didn't look too carefully at your ticket. You're given certain privileges because you'll be doing work on the craft. A better bedchamber is one of them. I just didn't want to embarrass you." His voice was a soft rumble. He looked over at me and gave me a small smile to show that he wasn't trying to be an asshole.  
  
"Yeah, after all, I'm doing such a good job of it myself." His laugh was low and cheerful. A person could become intoxicated by that laugh. "Mr. Richardson, should I call you Captain, or Mr. Richardson?"  
  
"Brock, call me Brock."  
  
"Sure, ok." 


	2. Section 2:Lessons

1 Section 2: Lessons  
  
  
  
Elise sat back and took in the bright darkness of space. Brock looked over at her with a warm look on his face. She reminded him of a girl he used to know, a girl from a past too dangerous to reveal. This girl was clever and quick to learn, but she didn't look 19 like they said. She looked more like a mature 17 year old. Her face was still recovering from the dreaded acne that plagues teens. He noticed that she wasn't clumsy like most adolescents though. She, like him, measured her movements and was careful about what she revealed. Something about the ship she used to live on was someplace she didn't want to go back to, so she avoided telling anything other than facts about the ship itself. That was fine with him, he figured she would reveal her mystery to him in time. As for him, he didn't plan on revealing anything.  
  
"Things look real interesting up here." Elise turned around in her seat to see who was talking. "Hello Elise. I'm Manny." He gave a grin that appeared to be more forced than natural.  
  
"I know." She made to get up, but Manny placed his hand on her shoulder to gently push her back down.  
  
"You don't need to get up. I was just coming in here to ask you guys what you want for supper. Melinda Singer offered to cook something tonight in celebration for the launch. So what'll it be?" Brock turned his head to look at Manny, but Manny was looking at Elise.  
  
"Mm…space food. Does she need any help?" I had always hated the space crap they tried feeing us on the other vessel.  
  
"She didn't say anything, but I can go ask her for you."  
  
"No, that's all right, I'll go myself. I was getting tired of sitting here doing nothing anyhow." Brock thought maybe she was lying about that; she didn't seem the type to put up with something she didn't have too.  
  
"Well now, actually I was hoping to bounce around some thoughts with you about this sector on the electro-map. I heard something about you having been around these parts before."  
  
She was hesitant and made an effort to be vague. "Oh, well yeah, some. I've made some pit stops along the way."  
  
There was a moment of silence when the two looked at each other, sizing the other up perhaps. Brock didn't like the way Manny was looking at his young trainee. He had thought Manny was only kidding when they had been talking about her before. They had been friends since that other, dangerous past when they had done some time together in Dose Dia. Manny was in on chump time. He had been dealing drugs, but his lawyer was good, so he only got a year and a half. When Manny got out he said he would meet up with Brock again someday. Only then, "Brock Richardson" wasn't his name. It had been Riddick, and Riddick knew that his colleague was into younger women.  
  
If Riddicks suspicions were right, and Elise wasn't the age she said she was, then he better warn Manny. This girl didn't look like she was into anything kinky, and that might just well have been Manny's middle name…especially when they were younger. It was funny looking at Manny giving Elise that "wanna fuck?" look, and Elise giving Manny that "wanna fuck off?" look. She glanced over at Riddick and then turned back around so she wouldn't have to look Manny in the face. She gave a haughty sigh and, looking out the window, arched her chin in a look of utter prestige. "Tell her I'd like a roman salad, please."  
  
Kudos. Riddick was impressed at the way she so easily overrode the tense moment. He was also impressed that she should be so calm when Manny was carrying a weapon. He had seen that it bothered her when she glanced at it. Now to test her breaking point. "I'm going to check the fuel compartments. I'll stop by the kitchen and give the meal orders." He slid by Manny, taking his gun out of its holster, but didn't look at him. Manny was so eager to steal Riddicks seat that he didn't even notice. Riddick left and Manny slid smoothly into the seat next to Elise.  
  
"When have you been by here?"  
  
"I've only been by here a few times on routine runs. We made stops along the way at…" She pressed the blue-lighted switch by her hand to make the 3D map hologram appear. It was magnificent in its shape and color quality. The planets and vital star constellations were perfectly proportioned and everything was labeled. Options were given for short routes and directions, information on each planet, and the distance between stops. By asking, the computer's voice-sensitive speaker could state the current comet/asteroid activity in a specific area. Elise touch-activated certain areas to bring them up and into better view. Manny was thoroughly impressed by the ease at which she used the map display. He figured she had either practiced using it with Riddick or was very good with computers. Although, Riddick isn't too swift with the new computers. He saw double when looking at them if he didn't have his goggles on because the special light reflected funny in his eyes. They hadn't been on his head. "There, mostly we stopped at Niata, Caputa, and Klim. We've been other places, but not more than once or twice." She glanced wearily at Manny. He was looking at her legs rather than the map. She had black shorts on, and for the moment they rode high up on her thigh because she was leaning forward. At least he's not checking out my chest. Oh, wait, he had plenty of opportunity for that when he was standing above me. She felt the urge to shift her shorts back down, and maybe make a break for the door to the cabin while she was at it, but held back. After all, he was a man, and flying around space for half your life could influence disturbing behavior in anyone. "You've been all over this place, right? So that means you've been to Pulak then?" She hoped to distract him.  
  
He finally looked up to her face, "yeah, that's right."  
  
"Oh, well, I've always wanted to go there. I hear it's got some really great…" She paused slightly, "sailing spots." She was less interested in the place than she was in how many hairs were on her head, but it brought his attention away from her legs and onto something she was more comfortable with.  
  
"It's true. Have you ever been sailing?"  
  
All she could think about was getting out of there. If lying meant she could end the conversation sooner, then so be it. "No. I haven't. There isn't much sailing interest in the city where I came from. You know, I'm betting supper is almost ready. I'm awfully hungry. Aren't you?"  
  
Manny was a hound, but not completely stupid. He could see she wanted to get away, unfortunately, he thought she was just trying to play hard to get. She flipped the switch and the hologram disappeared. A dim darkness was left with only the miniscule light from the other lighted buttons to see by. Manny took the opportunity to reach out and grab her hand. The reaction was quick. She flipped her hand over his and twisted. His wrist gave a warning pop, but didn't break. The girl was quick, even eerie in her immediate response. He had expected maybe a small jump and most definitely a small squeal, but not a fight move.  
  
"Some advice, keep your hands to yourself, and your dick in your pants." She released his wrist and he hurriedly pulled it to his chest. Swiftly she moved from the seat and out the door. A spark had been ignited in him, and he sat solemnly in the dark feeding it. 


	3. Section 3:The Lower Level

1.1 Section 3: The Lower Level  
  
  
  
Elise walked nonchalantly down the hall. She didn't know where she was walking and it didn't matter. All she could think about was how stupid she was for setting herself up like that. The moment had been the ultimate flash back for her. But he isn't like them. He's just some poor schmuck looking for a good time! I can't believe I over reacted like that. And to think this is only my first day working with him. How embarrassing. She reached some lonely hallway, which, by the look of it, had a blown fuse in the lights. They flickered faintly, casting a sinister glow that fused all things together. Staring down that curving hall was like looking through a circular kaleidoscope with fog swirling in it. She'd have to tell Brock about it. Speaking of Brock, if she wasn't mistaken, she should be near where the engine room would be. He said something about going down there to check the fuel. How long ago had that been? How far had she wandered?  
  
To go back the other way would bring her to the hallway connecting to the bedchambers and to the way back to the front of the craft, so this must be the way to the engine room. Just to make sure she said "Lights On". Nothing happened, and so she placed her hand on the slick metal surface of the wall and began down the hallway. The cool metal made her fingertips tingle slightly. She glided smoothly along. Hardly a sound from her lightly falling footsteps echoed through the ominous dark of the winding corridor.  
  
Nearly 30 yards in she saw the light begin to increase. She turned a tightly curving corner and saw the source of the light. There was a hole going down to the lower levels of the ship. Light was protruding from there. She walked quickly over to it and peered down for a moment before swinging her legs onto the ladder and making her way down. She made no sound jumping down off the ladder when there were no more rungs. In the dim light she could see she appeared to be standing in the center of a disaster area. Things were strewn about and things clacked and clanged with no apparent regularity. Wires hung down and out of everything, but fortunately everything still looked like it worked. It looked as if this also was the storage area. There were boxes upon boxes, all nailed shut and strapped tightly to the floor with leather binding. The room itself looked to be rectangular, but she was closer to one end than the other. Brock was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean much since there were doors leading out of the room every 10 feet or so. She went in the direction she couldn't see the end of, and was surprised when she saw a bag that looked exactly like her own. She stooped down to open it. Inside were her things, but she couldn't figure out why they would be down there, or why it was that particular bag that had been brought down. In it were her books and IMC's. (Information Micro Chip's) Then she heard it, a soft hissing sound. She slowly stood up. Her leather boots squelched as she turned in the direction of the sound. It sounded like it was coming from further along the room. Crouching slightly, she agilely made her way toward it. As she came closer, she saw sparks and realized it was a torch for metal. She was able to see the tool, but not it's owner. The tool was propped in a position where it would do no harm, but also so that it continued to burn.  
  
The soft rustling of pants sounded behind her and she suddenly found herself with her arms behind her back and her face being plowed into the gritty metal floor. She made no sound, she knew it would do no good. She was flipped onto her back. She stared up into the gleaming eyes of Brock, who dug his one knee into her thigh, and pinned her arms to the floor. Her jaw clenched, but she wore no expression. Brock realized suddenly that there was no fear in her. Her eyes, the set line of her jaw, even her smell screamed hate for this animal that was holding her helpless on the floor. In those few moments, he caught a glimpse of her past. To his own surprise, he was the one with fear. Not only fear for the way she reacted, but for his animalistic act of attacking her. He released her and fell onto his own back scrambling away.  
  
Elise lay where he left her, no, where he had pounced away from her. She felt such confusion as never before at the look in his eyes when he had done it. They had changed rapidly from cold-hearted murder, to uncertainty, to confusion, to fear, and then his whole face contorted into a look of pure shame. She didn't dare look over at him. Riddick on the other hand, couldn't tear his eyes way from her. He had scooted far enough over so that he sat with his back against the wall. He was wondering why she wasn't looking at him when she suddenly, quick as a flash, rolled in the opposite direction and up onto her feet. Now she was standing, back against the opposite wall 15 feet away.  
  
She inhaled deeply, and released it again slowly as she sank to her knees. Her butt met her feet, and then the floor as she moved her feet so that her legs now made the shape of a "W". It was how she used to sit when she was being punished as a young girl. It was the position of vulnerability for her, a chastisement for herself. Her hair hung limply in her eyes, but she made no move to sweep it back.  
  
Brock brought up his legs so that he could place his arms across his knees. Then he tilted his head back until it rested against the wall and his eyes met the ceiling. Her stare felt cold, but her face said she just wanted an explanation. "Would you have used Manny's gun if you hadn't chickened out last minute?" He couldn't tell if her question was meant to anger him, or tell him something. He got it though; she had seen him take Manny's gun. She must of. Then she must have felt it weighing against her stomach when he pinned her. He also understood that he had confused her as much as she did him. He didn't know how to answer, but then he didn't have to. She had meant for it to be rhetorical.  
  
Then she asked something he hadn't expected till later after the shock, but apparently she wasn't one to be easily distracted. "Why is my bag down here? I'm quite sure I didn't bring it down, so gee, it must have been a fucking ghost, huh?"  
  
"Did you see which one it was?"  
  
"Yeah, it has all of my information sources in it. I need all of them for my studies at Bisham Tech."  
  
"Not all of them are for Bisham Tech."  
  
"I know that, but I do believe you shouldn't."  
  
"Why are you so interested in the study of law and the criminal system?"  
  
She stood up, walked over to her bag and pulled out the box with her IMC's in them. "These are my things, and I don't appreciate you going through them. This looks like the only bag of mine here, so I'm going to take this back up with me," she zipped it back up and slung it over her shoulder," and then I'm going to go have some dinner."  
  
He lifted his head from the wall and brought his hands down to the floor. He looked avidly at her before saying slowly and clearly, "don't avoid the question."  
  
She gave him a piercing look and mocked the tone of his command with, "don't talk to me." Her eyes softened slightly before turning away.  
  
He looked at the floor for a few seconds before saying, "I have my own share of monsters in the closet you know."  
  
She turned, but the look wasn't one of confusion or interest, it was amused with a hint of hurt on the side. "You are the monster in the closet."  
  
He shifted his gaze from the floor to her, tilting his head slightly. Whether or not she meant to, she had practically hit the button on the nose. Whether or not he knew it, she had given away a hint to her closet monster. 


	4. Section 4:Late for Supper

1 Section 4: Late for Supper  
  
  
  
"Where in the hell have you been?" Melinda was furious, but she looked relieved. I slid into the seat next to her, trying not to make eye contact with her.  
  
"Nowhere. I just learned some lessons and then went to put away my things." Actually, I had thrown my bag into my room without going in and then stepped across the hall into the kitchen.  
  
Melinda dropped her fork onto her plate. "It took you all that time?" Her eyebrows were raised and her voice scolding.  
  
"Jesus Melinda! You're not my fucking baby sitter. I came here to do work and that's what I did." It killed me to curse at her. I couldn't help it though, the evening had been overly stressful as it was. The hurt set immediately into every line in her face. I could have cried with her looking like that. I realized the 3 others were all staring intently at us, when they saw me looking they quickly became thoroughly interested in their burnt meals. (A product of her worry for me.) I softened my voice. "I'm really sorry Melinda. It's been such a long day, for you too. Come here." Melinda was trying hard not to cry, so I hugged her. The sensation of allowing someone to be so close was the weirdest feeling. She gave a half hiccup that shook her body, like she was going to cry, then she leaned back. Her face was perfectly dry and the color was receding from her cheeks.  
  
Her voice staggered the slightest bit as she said, "Oh gosh, I, I didn't mean to make you mad." She laughed a little at herself. "You're right, it has been a really long day hasn't it?" I nodded my head in agreement.  
  
"Hey look, it was really nice of you to make all this food." I swept my arm across the table to indicate everyone's meals. I made sure to catch all of their eyes. They instantly began smiling and making nice comments on how great the meal was. She began eating her own meal again and asking me questions about my lessons. Neither of us were too interested at the moment, it was just a way to fill the silence.  
  
Looking around the table I was happy to see that neither Manny nor Brock were there. Having to look at them might have sent me screaming into the next room. "Do you know where Mr. Richardson and that other fellow are?" It was the fist time I had heard Liam Norway speak.  
  
I wasn't sure who he was speaking to in particular, but I decided no one else would know, "Uh, I don't know. I spoke with Manny, went to my room, met up with Mr. Richardson again, and then went back to my room before I came here." They were calling him Mr. Richardson, and I supposed that I would be doing that also for the remainder of the trip.  
  
"Ah, well, they certainly are missing a fine meal aren't they?" The comment was made for Melinda, I could've hugged him for it too. I looked to see how she reacted, and saw that she was busy giving him a shy, modest smile. How interesting. The man was moderate looking for his age, and Melinda looked like the type that liked playing the field at home. Well, this is the new home, and he is the new game.  
  
I was almost done with my salad when Manny stepped into the room. He hardly glanced at the table, instead he passed us and went to pour himself some coffee. He didn't seem angry necessarily, just disinterested. He stood with his back to us, sipping what must have been cold, unstirred coffee. The coffee in everyone else's cup had stopped steaming more than 15 minutes ago. I suspected that everyone thought I should break the silence, since I had spoken to him the most, but they had no idea what we had spoken about. There was no way in hell I was going to talk to him, not that evening. Good ol' Melinda finally broke it. "Please, have a seat here with us. Your meal is awfully cold, but I could certainly heat that up for you, it'd be no problem." Just to convince him, I guess, she said, "I did with Elise's and the others." That was wrong.  
  
He turned around slowly, placing his cup on the counter as he did so, and crossing his arms across his chest. He mocked stupid and said, "Well gee, I don't think I could do that myself seeing as I'm such a moron." Melinda sneaked a side glance at me then back to Manny as he spoke again, this time in a much more snide way, "Oh wait, that was you. Get a fucking clue."  
  
"Why don't you get the fuck out?" We all whipped our heads around to see Brock standing in the doorway. "Don't speak to her like that, not when she's trying to be nice. Now get the fuck out." He had a city accent, making what he was saying all the more menacing. Manny's easy posture when he was leaning against the counter was quickly interrupted by his own natural instincts' will for survival. He looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He stood bolt upright and then walked to the door leading out the side of the room.  
  
Brocks gaze followed Manny out the door, then he turned his gaze in the direction of me and Melinda. It was difficult to tell with his goggles on. The kitchen was brighter than when he had been in here before. There must be a dimmer control. Brock took a few slow steps in toward the table. I swallowed hard, then I looked to the other people at the table. "Have you all met the captain?"  
  
Norman Lemmingham coughed to clear his throat. "I haven't." He stood, then, limping slightly, walked around the table over to Brock. The two shook hands and Norman introduced himself. He was an old, wrinkled man, and by the looks of it, he was either in the army or was just a really proud man to stand with such physical discipline at his age. Norman went back to his seat and Brock took a seat at the head of the table. Up until then Melinda and me were on one side and the 3 three men were on the other.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
"Starved." Melinda actually looked happy to be able to serve him. I felt disgusted.  
  
"I hate to ruin a good thing, but I think I'm going to retire to my room for the night. Good night everyone. Good night Melinda." I stood and nodding my head in fake respect for Brock, "Captain." I stepped out, closing the door as I went. I was glad my room was right across from the kitchen, walking through the corridors alone with Manny somewhere out there didn't seem like much fun to me.  
  
I opened my door, came in, and then closed the door. I didn't even have a chance to say "lights on".  
  
Riddick was given a warmed up version of his meal, and wolfed it down with the speed of a rabid dog. The others sipped new coffee and made small talk while stealing small glances at the pilot. He didn't talk much, but then again, that wasn't his style. He wanted to leave, but that might look suspicious since the girl just did, and he felt it was his duty to study these people as closely as possible. It had always been a hobby of his to study the habits and character traits of people. They had continually been like outsiders to him, even though he knew it was the other way around. He liked it this way. No one tried getting too close, and a certain respect was given to his self-containment.  
  
He began to observe that the conversation never touched Elise, Manny, or himself. In fact, the conversation was so simple that it stayed strictly in and around the region of "where are you from, what do you do for a living, where are you going, and for what purpose are you going there?" The only thing interesting was the fact that everyone was getting off before Bisham. The only ones left for the last 2 weeks or so of the trip would be Elise, Manny, and himself. That was by far the most interesting piece of information that evening.  
  
He's never been one for acting, but seeing as he was the closest one to the door he was the one that heard the muffled sound of a scream coming from close by. He then faked a yawn and excused himself. He closed the door to the kitchen tightly and put his ear up to the door of Elise's room. What he heard was both amusing and disturbing. 


	5. Section 5:Whom?

Section 5: Whom?  
  
  
  
Manny's hold on her wasn't too hard to break considering he was only a few inches taller than Elise. Ripping the "Stickee-Tape" off her mouth was the most challenging thing. It took a minute for Manny to get over the hard hit he had taken to his jaw with the heel of her hand. He managed to get up and pull his knife out before she could pull the tape even ¼ of the way off. He wasn't exactly sure where she was, and he didn't want to hurt her too bad, so he backed up some with the knife held out in front of him. Then he said, "Listen missy, I've got a knife in my hand, and if you pull another stunt like that I'll gut ya good." His mistake was in thinking that she was still in front of him. To her finely tuned ears, his shuffling feet gave away his every move. The tape was so slow that it was nice and quiet when the last bit came off.  
  
She remembered that he was right handed. He had grabbed her arm before with his right, even though the easier would have been to use his left. She was directly behind him and he didn't even know it. She almost felt sorry for the ass. Almost. Simultaneously she wrapped her left leg around his to bring him down, placed her right arm on the inside of his, grabbing his hand, brought that arm back so his arm was pinned behind his back, and put her left arm under his left armpit then grabbed up around the top of his neck to place him in a head lock. His whole body was trapped in less than 3 seconds. His neck was in such an uncomfortable position he could scarcely make out a good scream. "Surprise jackass. Drop the knife." He did. "Lights on." They blinked on. She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the brightness, then she released him, throwing forward enough so that he could have slammed head first into the door. Instead he fell to the floor. His breathing was labored, and his face a deep flush of red. Brock was on the outside of the door right about here.  
  
"You-" He couldn't quite talk right yet, so he tried again, "how did you do that?"  
  
She bent down and picked up the knife. It was the most peculiar thing. It had a curved blade with a small handle. The metal was flawless, the hilt perfectly shaped. It looked like something specially designed to fit a specific persons hand. Studying the handle she saw first that the hand would have to be much bigger than Manny's, then she saw that there were initials carved into the base. R.R. Brock heard her murmur the initials. "I can't believe you Manny. You actually ripped this knife off some poor schmuck. R.R.! Do you even know who you stole it from?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." He leaned back against the door and rubbed his wrist. It was the second time she had almost broken it. If it wasn't swollen the next day, it would be a miracle.  
  
"Oh Christ, do you expect me to believe that your hand is the size of a fucking gorillas?" Brock was silently chuckling at this when Manny said something he would regret.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about because I didn't steal it, I borrowed it from my good friend Brock."  
  
Elise was silent for a minute. She contemplated what his exaggeration of Brocks name could mean. "Is that right? And that means what to me?" Manny had been smirking, but the cold seriousness in her voice suddenly penetrated.  
  
Manny began to pout slightly as a bratty child might. "Well you wanted to know where I got it from."  
  
Elise walked over to him, holding the knife out in a somewhat offensive manner, and bent down close to him. Brock had to crouch down to approximately their height to hear what she was saying to Manny. Her voice was low and menacing, not a good combination for Manny, his breathing was becoming short and shallow. He had risked enough taking the knife without asking Brock, now a girl who had every right to claim vengeance was holding that same, sharp knife 6 inches from his throat. "I want you to tell me what these initials really stand for Manny. Can you do that for me? Cause you know, I'd really appreciate it."  
  
Riddick's heart was pumping faster and faster. She couldn't know his real name. Everything would be ruined. People would die, and he would be on the run again. Fortunately for Riddick, Manny may be chicken shit, but he still wasn't stupid. "Oh, oh! Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I thought you were going to ask me something hard." He breathed some and then told her, "The letters stand for Ronald Richardson. He hates his first name so he made up a name, Brock" He even managed to look more afraid, "But you can't tell anyone! He'd kill me if he knew I'd told someone! Oh God. Oh God."  
  
Elise knew something was wrong with this picture. It didn't matter, she'd find out one way or the other. The important thing was to get him out of her room. "Don't worry dear child, your God is here before you. Unfortunately for you, it's Judgment Day." At this Manny nearly screamed in hysteria. Riddick was utterly dumbfounded at what she said, but if she wanted to do it, he couldn't stop her. Elise had no intention of doing anything to Manny though. She placed a hand over Manny's mouth to quiet his whimpering, but this only frightened him more. Elise couldn't help smiling at his near hysteria. She threw the knife behind her hard enough for it to hit the other wall. "Hey! Listen. Shhh. I'm not really going to hurt you. I was kidding about the God thing. I'm not psycho or anything." He was still freaking out, she couldn't hold back the smile that kept wanting to sneak back some more.  
  
Then she heard something scrape the door from the other side. Riddick was in the process of getting up and accidentally grazed the door with his watch. Elise grabbed Manny by the shirt and pulled him up to his feet. She spun him around and gripped the back of his neck with her hand. She yanked the door open and shoved him out. Riddick barely had time to put his back to the wall next to the door. Manny made to turn back around to look at her, but she closed the door and pulled the bolt. Who Manny saw instead made a small pool of warm liquid form at his feet. 


	6. Section 6:Sleep

1 Section 6: Sleep  
  
  
  
Elise stood with her ear to the door, listening to the small moans of Manny as he wavered dangerously with fear. Riddick stepped from the wall and up close to Manny until he was close enough to whisper in Manny's ear. He didn't say anything, he just immobilized Manny with fear and the feeling of being inferior. Finally he spoke. "Where is my knife?" His voice was calm, controlled. He knew she would be listening, and he didn't want to make a big scene.  
  
"I…I…I must of left it in her room…I d…didn't have the opportunity to grab it." He was so nervous his voice quavered as he spoke.  
  
"Did I really let you borrow this Manny? Or did it appear to just be missing?"  
  
Manny's natural hotheaded personality was starting to surface. He felt his actions were well justified. "That little bitch nearly broke my wrist, I had to do something Ri…Brock." He'd stopped himself before he said Riddicks real name.  
  
"Shhh…come with me Manny." Brock led him in the direction of the engine room.  
  
Elise threw open her closet door to find everything perfectly placed and hung. Where there were none before, there were extra blankets on the shelf. She went over to her drawers and opened each, one at a time. All of her clothes were already separated. She knew that Brock had already been in her room to retrieve her bag. The thought that it might have been Brock who had organized everything was too much to bear for the moment, so she took out some nightclothes and placed them on the counter. She proceeded into the bathroom to take a shower. The day had been her worst ever. It would be at least 3 weeks before the next stop, and that meant 3 weeks of working in close proximity to those two. Even the burning hot water couldn't ease the tension in her body.  
  
When she crawled into bed she expected to be up half the night thinking over the day, but she went to sleep almost immediately. Her last thoughts were about Brocks eyes, that they were the key.  
  
That night she dreamt about a traumatizing event that had happened years before, when she was 10. In her dream she was walking down a hallway much like the one to the engine room. She had her bag with her books for classes in it. The whole ship was experiencing major engine malfunctions, and so she wanted to go see her friend in sector B-17. He was a whole year older and was bound to protect her. In her naïve youth she had forgotten that all locks in the ship would be disengaged if the power went off. Our young Elise didn't know it, but at that moment all the authorities on the ship were trying to warn the children to stay in their rooms.  
  
A few of the prisoners aboard the ship had slipped past the guards and were nowhere to be found in the ship. The thing was huge, and with the cameras and lights malfunctioning it was nearly impossible to know where they were.  
  
As Elise slept she began tossing and turning, in her dream the moment when they reach out and grab her is about to come up.  
  
Young Elise is walking past the open door to a storage closet, but she trips over a broom that has been stuck out by one of the 3 prisoners. She's grabbed up by her book bag and then a large warm hand is placed roughly over mouth. She has been trained for the last 2 years on how to deal with this if it ever occurred. The man bear hugs her so that one arm is wrapped around her arms and chest. The other hand is across her mouth. She doesn't struggle, like the teachers taught her not too. Instead, she pretends to listen to on of the other men telling her not to scream. Meanwhile her hand is reaching behind her to the back pocket of her pants where she has a small pocketknife.  
  
"Now we're not going to scream are we?" He had a funny accent, like he came from a far different galaxy.  
  
She shook her head furiously. The man holding her took his hand away and set her on her own two feet. He had a heavy hand on her shoulder though. He was squeezing so hard his knuckles were white and that she grimaced a little from the pain. Elise remembers looking down at his hand and seeing that the nails were all bitten away. She knew he was a nervous man, which made him a dangerous man. The one that hadn't done or said anything yet stepped out of the closet. He had a knife of his own that he flicked open and placed delicately to the ginger skin of her neck. "Don't move." His voice was heavily slurred, but he spoke so slowly that it was difficult not to understand what he was saying. His hand shook slightly, Elise realized he must have just taken his meds before the escape.  
  
He took a shaky step back which brought the knife far enough back so that Elise could knock it away and stab her own knife into his chest. The man behind her was startled into letting her slip away. She pulled the knife out of escape convicts #3's chest and crouched down low to stab at the man that had held her shoulder. She took out his knee and then pounced up to get the other. He was somewhat quicker to react than the others and had managed to get a hold of the broom while she dealt with the others. The man whose knee was slashed was on the ground holding his leg. He reached out for her leg but she kicked out with that leg at the same instant. One of the bones in his jaw broke where she got him.  
  
The one with the broom decided he ought to run, and was off before she could do anything about it. At the age of ten she had took down 2 men who were both twice as large as her, and scared of another. Since this was a flashback dream, it was an exact replica of what had really happened, up until the end. In her dream young Elise turns around to run the other way, but knocks into Brock.  
  
Elise sits up in bed with a scream rising in her throat. It took her nearly 10 minutes to become calm again, but she managed and lay back down. Sleep didn't come for many hours after that. This same dream will revisit her again and again for the next 2 weeks. 


	7. Section 7:The Lower Level Again

1 Section 7: The Lower Level Again  
  
  
  
Two long weeks later, after 14 days of uncomfortable silences and few words spoken, Elise gathers up what courage she can find to go down to the engine room to visit with Brock. She's spent the last few weeks searching through the files on her criminal law IMC's for some clue as to who he is. She looked for criminals whose initials were R.R., but there were thousands to choose from. Then she researched the type of criminal that would be given a "shine-job". Most were high profile convicts that were sentenced to serve more than half their lives in a joint where daylight is God. The friend of your friends' cousin has seen it, but no one you know actually saw it. This narrowed her search to about ¼ what it was, but that still left some 2,000 possibilities. Pictures weren't given, and profiles were severely limited. She'd studied different criminals profiles for half of her life, and knew thousands from living with them. He fit none, and then he fit all.  
  
She was extremely distressed. She just knew he was a criminal, why else would her have asked her those questions when she was in the Engine Room with him? Why else would he have light sensitive eyes? Why else would he have attacked her? Then again, why did he act so nice to her before that? Why would he take Manny's gun away from him? Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was she thinking? He also went into her room, went through her stuff, and took her bag. The man was fucked up and she was making up excuses for him? No, she had to go set things straight with him before the first stop.  
  
She got down on her stomach. "Brock? Brock!" She yelled down into the sallow light of the engine room. Then more to herself, "Where in the hell are you?"  
  
"Right here." His head popped into view below her. She noticed how much he looked like a bug with his black goggles on. She even cracked a smile at the thought. "I didn't think you'd ever be happy to see me." Instead of responding she dropped down a latched folder to him. He reached out to grab it. His whole body came into view then. He was wearing an army green muscle tank and black pants. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his muscles gleamed with it, she supposed it was from the torch. She watched as he opened the folder and flipped through some of the papers. He closed it, but continued to stare at the folder without saying anything.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what? Why would you want to get yourself mixed up in something like this?" He didn't seem angry, but his voice almost sounded sorry.  
  
"Because I never leave without facing my closet monster." He finally looked up at her. He gave one of his meditated exhales that flared his nostrils. For reasons she couldn't understand, this simple act of impatience made her squirm. She pursed her lips and looked away. "Are you going to invite me down, or do I have to continue getting dizzy from a head rush?"  
  
The corners of his lips twitched just enough for her to see them before he turned away out of view. His voice echoed up to her though, "Stay there, it might help." A bellowing laughter followed. Elise gave a small giggle. At least he wasn't angry, that continued to be a good thing.  
  
Looking around, Elise saw that he had been as busy as her the last few weeks cleaning up the mess down there. She also saw that this was where he slept. His bed, or cot, was set up in the corner with an uncovered light bulb installed over the head. He had several books spilled across the floor, and the corner of a notepad peeked out from under his lumpy pillow. Brock followed her gaze to his "living quarters", and he instinctively began kicking the books under the bed with his heel. She guessed he didn't want anyone knowing he was a bookworm. She didn't see why it was embarrassing though. What else was there to do while spending weeks in space? At the foot of his bed was a card table with one chair sticking lopsided out from the table.  
  
He walked over to the table and moved an ashtray filled with old cigarette butts out of the way before throwing the folder down. He pulled the chair out and sat down, legs splayed, his expression impassive. His eyes searched the cover of the folder, not really seeing it, and incessantly chewed his lower lip. Not knowing what else to do, she hopped onto the end of his bed and sat Indian style so that she was sitting to the adjacent side of him. Her eyes flicked impatiently from the folder to his face and back again. Finally she reached out to flip the folder open, but his own hand came out from under the table and landed on hers. He picked her hand up and paused with it in mid air, he was gentle, there was no harshness in his actions. Then he released it and brought the folder closer to himself.  
  
"I-these are just some of the things I've been researching…to no avail. If you'd just tell me the truth, right now, then I wouldn't need bother, and I wouldn't feel wrong about leaving the ship at the next stop."  
  
"And what if I don't? What if, instead, I toss this into the garbage disposal and watch as it rips it to shreds?"  
  
"That wouldn't do a hell of a lot since I have it all saved. Besides, if you're not guilty of anything, then there's no probl-" He sat forward suddenly, seizing her arm and yanking her forward so that their faces almost clashed.  
  
"You're going to get off this beast for one reason or another, so why would I tell you…anything?" His lips hardly moved, but the smooth, no nonsense rise and fall of his voice said everything he didn't.  
  
She tried pulling her arm away, but his grip was like steel on her thin arm. Up that close to him she could see through his shades into his eyes. They were still, unblinking. She could see the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together. She felt disgusted. "What are you? Some sort of schizo? One minute your making jokes and acting all cool…the next you're some psycho who's got murder in his eyes! You're like some chick with major PMS!"  
  
He tilted his head and parted his lips like he was about to crack up. Instead he pursed his lips and let go of her. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Are you, or were you a…a convict?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"To which one?"  
  
"I was."  
  
"Is that where you got the shine-job?"  
  
He pulled off the shades and began fiddling with them. "Yes."  
  
She swiped nervously at her hair, which had fallen once again into her face. She licked her lips, they had suddenly gone dry. "Don't you have to kill people to get sent to a prison where those procedures are done?" He stopped playing with them and looked sharply at her, but he didn't answer. "If you did kill people, you would have gotten a lot longer of a sentence than you obviously did, so what could you have done to be sent there, but only for such a short time."  
  
"Half my life is not short."  
  
"It's short compared to what you would have gotten, or should have gotten if you killed people."  
  
"So what are you going to do now that you know?" He didn't enjoy the direction that conversation was going.  
  
"What did you do Brock?"  
  
His pulled his eyes from the goggles to the wall across the table. "Nothing that could affect you. Are you getting off at the next stop or aren't you?"  
  
She hesitated for a few seconds, pondering what that answer could mean. "If you promise to stop surprise attacking me, then I'll stay. After all, Bisham Tech. would be awfully pissed if I just didn't show up, but if you don't think you can do that, then I'm just going to have to hitch a ride back with someone else." She waited to see if he would respond. He didn't, so she went on. "If I'm mistaken, the last time I came down here and you hog tied me, you didn't really mean to do it. Now, usually that's not an excuse, but in your case you restrained yourself before anything really happened."  
  
Brock thought it was incredibly noble of her to try and see his side of it, but he knew she had it all wrong. "Do you really think I wouldn't of done it, had you been shaking with fear? You got it all wrong girlie, I would have killed you. All I needed was one hint of fear, the smell of nervous sweat coming off you."  
  
"Would you still kill me? If we were in that same situation again, would you forget what happened the first time and go right for it?" Her fingers were digging into her kneecaps, anger was building up silently, it was difficult to keep the resentment out of her voice.  
  
Something about her "no fear" way of speaking to him amused him. She could almost be cocky if she wasn't so serious. "I have the feeling you'd be a little more prepared for my attack if I did it again. I also think that if I hadn't caught you off guard you might have been able to deflect me."  
  
"I might, but we're talking about you here, not me."  
  
"No, no, let's talk about this." He felt a small twinge of pleasure at seeing her squirm. "Where did you learn to do what you did to Manny? Guerilla tactics are only taught in the military nowadays. But then, it's funny because even military men have fear their first time they're sent to do combat. You knew I was armed and that you weren't, but there still was no fear. Does this mean it's happened before?"  
  
"No one ever said I was trained to do anything."  
  
"But you were."  
  
"What's your point?!"  
  
"I want to know where, why, and how much experience you have Elise! Tell me, did it feel good beating them?" A little more heated, and he suspected she might end up attacking him.  
  
"Only a sick fuck like you would get off on that!" She jumped down off the bed and made to go to the ladder leading up, but she stopped and turned back around. It took all of her will power not to back out of the conversation. "I was trained because I lived on a ship where there were criminals traveling with us at all times. They trained us to deal with them by using any means necessary." She paused enough to let herself calm down. Tears had sprung to her eyes and her voice became scratchy. "There were frequent attacks, one in particular when I was younger that taught me about fear. No, I didn't enjoy hurting them, or wounding them, or beating them to a pulp, but I wasn't against it, not when I knew they enjoyed doing that to others."  
  
Brock was surprised at how vulnerable she acted when she talked about her past. He was more startled by the way she made him feel than anything. He didn't see her weakness, he saw something he wanted to protect. "Why do you cry over something you had no control over?"  
  
"I'm not crying. I'm just remembering." She went and sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
He nodded in agreement without really understanding. "And your parents, they let you live in such a dangerous place?"  
  
"I was an orphan. Whether or not they're actually dead is unknown, but I know I spent the first 7 years of my life in an orphanage ship. It was really nice I remember, but when you turn 8 they send you to an orphanage/prisoner transport/work ship. As soon as I got there they started training me to defend myself against the prisoners. Soon they put me to work with them and you begin learning muscle and mind control. In between work and training we went to what classes we could. They noticed I was especially good in science and math, and that my vision was perfect, so they taught me how to fly. If I hadn't befriended one of the teachers there, they would have had me take the position of pilot on that ship eventually, when that pilot got too old. The teacher got me out of there though, and so then I was sent to live with foster parents. That was the last place I was at before here." She stopped for a minute, and began smoothing out the blankets on the bed. "It's not a very sad story, after all, I'm still alive aren't I?" She finally looked up at Brock. Seeing the vague, amazed look on his face made her smile. Anything other than the hard, unreadable look he usually wore was enough to make her happy.  
  
He liked her smile…it was sad and happy at the same time. Inviting and then mysterious. Her eyes would squint up and little, miniscule creases would form at the corners of her eyes. "Was it weird having parents after not having any for so long?" He was curious. He himself had never had the opportunity to see for himself. His adolescence had been spent in the cool prison-like resemblance of orphanages.  
  
"I wouldn't know, they didn't act like parents were supposed to act at all. They owned their own little shop, and I had to work there to earn money for clothes and my share of food. They refused to buy me anything I didn't earn. Really I was just a payday. They got monthly checks from the government for taking me under their wings. Since I didn't cost anything, they were making money off me. I basically ran the business single handedly for 2 years. They threatened to take away my schooling privileges the first year I lived with them, if I didn't work as much as they wanted me too. The second year I was finished with school, so I worked there saving more money for college."  
  
"If you're 19 now, 2 years ago would mean you were 17 when you came to them. How come you didn't just leave?" He was waiting to see if she would answer truthfully or if she would lie about her age. He expected her to lie, but he thought he'd give her the chance to prove it.  
  
"I'm 17. The teacher lied cause no one wanted a 14-year-old girl. They wanted a male, a younger child, or an older child. She changed the papers to say that I was 16 already."  
  
He couldn't understand why she was so willing to tell him everything. "That must have been hard to catch up on two missed years of schooling. Wait, aren't you going to Bisham cause you're the top of your class or somethin'?"  
  
"Schooling has gone to hell on that planet. Up on the ship there weren't as many kids, so the classes were smaller and more direct, and the schooling standards are from 20, 30 years ago. Down on land, there were some 50 or 60 kids in each class. The teachers just threw out the information and left it there to sit on the kids' minds. The brighter of the bunch would transfer that information into useful knowledge, and make the grades. From my lessons on the craft, I was able to make sense of what the teachers said and becoming the top of my class was no problem." To say it felt good, to be able to say it to someone else felt even better. "What about you? Are you trying to tell me that you had a normal childhood and then grew up to be some ex-con?"  
  
There it was, the reason why she told him as much as she did. "I was orphaned too. They found me in a liquor store trash bin, the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. My life, well, it went down from there."  
  
"Where did you learn "guerilla tactics", as you call them?" She began picking up some of the books he missed when kicking them under the bed.  
  
"The military. I was the only one who made it out alive during one mission, and they through me in prison for desertion. It's true, but I would be dead, just like them, if I had stayed."  
  
Most of the books were fantasy, to her relief. She didn't know what she expected. Bomb Making 101, perhaps or something that screamed psychopath! maybe. "Not the same prison where you got those," she motioned to his eyes, "right?"  
  
"Right. Ever heard of Dose Dia?"  
  
"Yeah, mainly small time."  
  
"Yeah, well that's where I met Manny. His sentence was much shorter though." She noticed the far away look in his eyes. Jesus, how long was he in there for anyways?  
  
Her flesh crawled with the mention of Manny's name. "Do you mind if I ask you about Manny?"  
  
"Depends what you ask."  
  
"Well, what's his problem? I mean, instead of just hitting on me like a normal person, or slipping my hand into his, he grabs it when the light goes out. And then when I react a little differently than he expected, he gets angry and attacks me when I get into my room that night. Is that the usual I can expect from him? What if I correct him on his grammar or something, should I just assume he'll whip out his gun on me?"  
  
Riddick was amused by her honesty. He hated playing games. "You're young, he likes them that way. I'll bet, that he assumed you were playing hard to get when you didn't reciprocate his feelings openly. As far as trying to attack you again, he might think twice about it. Even when he was at the vantage point you overcame him. He's scared, not stupid." Oddly enough, Riddick didn't want to talk about Manny. He wanted to hear more about her. The other passengers didn't have anything interesting to say, and they had lived more than twice as long as her. She on the other hand, had plenty of interesting things to say. He let what he had said sink in before going on. "He used to be into drugs, but I wanted to keep a clean ship, so he doesn't do them anymore. That was why he was in Dose Dia to begin with, they said he was dealing, but that was a lie. Anyways, I witnessed him going cold turkey in there; it wasn't much different here. Unfortunately, he resents me for it. In the slam it's possible to get relatively small amounts of drugs into your possession if you know the right people. Up here, in space, there's no one." That too, he let sink in.  
  
"So what you're trying to say is that his minds gone a little haywire from the massive withdrawal."  
  
"Exactly. They told me you were 19, so if Manny tried anything there wouldn't be as many problems. Then you turned out to be younger. Sometimes I think he's got some sort of radar than can detect a girl under the legal age. You were sending out a clear signal."  
  
She scoffed indifferently and slid into a lying position, her leather booted feet hanging off the side of the bed. "There would still be problems if I pressed charges for attempted assault, but I get what you're saying. It wouldn't be statutory rape if he had sex with me."  
  
He nodded his head slowly, thinking. "Would you have allowed him to have sex with you if he hadn't freaked you out?"  
  
"That's not even a liable question. Just the way he looked at me gave me chills. You all are too old for me anyways. I'd have had to get to really know him before I would let him do anything more than make out with me." A short laugh escaped her lips. How could she tell him so much? She'd never been much good at introspect though, so she let it slide. She looked over to see what Brock was up to. He had gotten up and was digging through a bag on the floor. His back was to her, but she could here him pull out something, shake it, and then put it back. He walked over to where she was laying and put out his hand. In it was a cigarette. "No thanks mi amigo. I don't smoke."  
  
It was his turn to scoff. He returned to his seat at his table, putting one of the cigarettes in his mouth and placing the other one by the ashtray. He lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke rose in small, delicate curly cues.  
  
"Umm…is Manny going to stay on the craft for the entire 4 months?" She tried to be casual about it, but she could tell she was doing a bad job.  
  
"He has to. I've never tried passing through that weird stretch that surrounds the planet. He's done it lots of times, so he knows where the best entrances are."  
  
"Oh, right. Ok then, I think I'm going to go have some lunch or something. You want?"  
  
"I have some more work to do down here first."  
  
"Ok, bye."  
  
"I'll see you at two for your lesson then?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess you will."  
  
  
  
-Hey Everybody! Thanx for reading my story. This is my first fanfic and I'm pretty nervous about it. More coming soon. Please review and give me some pointers! 


	8. Section 8:3 Weeks Later

1.1.1 Section 8: 3 weeks later  
  
  
  
"What do you mean? Of course I know about you and Liam." Melinda went extremely red. I turned away as quickly as I could before I cracked a smile. Melinda had been antsy all day trying to ask me something. I didn't realize she thought I still didn't know she was seeing Liam on a regular basis.  
  
"What?! I, I thought we had kept it pretty secret up until now! Oh god, this is so awkward. Are you serious? Does this mean everyone else knows?" She hit her hand to her forehead.  
  
I had heard Norman and Gregory talking about them the other day. Melinda and Liam had missed their daily bridge game. I didn't know if Brock knew, but he didn't miss much. As far as Manny went, I no longer knew of any Manny. He didn't exist to me.  
  
"No! No. I doubt it."  
  
"That's good."  
  
"What does it matter anyways? It just makes it harder on you guys to try and hide. Especially when we all live in such a confined space together."  
  
"You're right of course, but," she leaned closer to me and spoke in a hushed voice, "it's more exciting this way."  
  
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. With my luck, Liam walked in at that same moment. Melinda saw him and started laughing too. When he asked what was going on we started howling. After I calmed down and my gut stopped hurting, I took my coffee cup and headed out the door. "See you later Melinda," and as I was about to walk out the door, "Later Fabio." I heard Melinda spit out her coffee and start laughing again as I strolled toward the hull.  
  
My body had been getting thinner from the lack of fatty foods and from all of the work I had been doing in the engine room. Brock had begun me on my training with fixing machinery. I was incredibly lucky he was a mechanic as well. It's a good skill to learn, and something that can come in very handy. The immense amount of heat that comes off of the torches roasts the human skin. We received a relayed message on the radio from Bisham Tech. They were pleased to announce that I'll be allowed to take the test for a piloting permit if I train hard enough. When they say train, they mean I have to train to meet the extreme physical requirements as well. Soon I would have to begin working out, with Brock as my coach. He promises to work out with me, but that wasn't saying much since he does anyways. I came in on him once while he was doing one-armed pull ups from a lead pipe on the ceiling. God he's gorgeous.  
  
It was just two hours before the next stop when Gregory would be getting off. He was sitting in the copilots seat next to Brock, chattering away about nothing and everything. When I walked into the cockpit he was saying something about how nice it was to have something to look at other than the same old boring stars. I'd like to say Brock looked interested, but I wasn't even sure he was listening. "Gregory! I guess you're pretty excited to finally get off this damn ship huh?"  
  
He looked around hurriedly with a startled look on his face. When he had seen it was me he relaxed. "Quite, quite indeed." He leaned forward in his seat. "Here, come look at this." I walked up to the middle between the two seats. "There, isn't it beautiful?" He was pointing at the planet Pulak. "Even from way up here you can see the silvery blueness of the water. I'm going to do nothing but tan and do business on that sea ship."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "And pick up chicks, right?"  
  
"Oh, of course."  
  
There was a knock at the door. Norman opened the door and came in. "Come on Gregory, I'll help you put your stuff together for the arrival. You don't want to rush to get everything just before you get off, and then forget something now do you?"  
  
"Ah yes, that'd be a good idea I think. It was good talking to you Mr. Richardson. You too Elise." Norman left and I moved to allow Gregory to get by. He closed the door softly. I heard him whisper loudly to Norman about how quiet Brock is. I couldn't help think that it was strange. He was never completely silent around me. A man of few words perhaps, but he always listened closely and asked questions.  
  
I sat beside him, and was about to ask something about how to land on a sea ship, but he spoke first. "I like it better when it's just the stars to look at. You can get lost in them. Having a planet to divert your attention makes it seem like the journeys going to end. And I don't want the journey to end." He looked over at me. His strikingly blue eyes bore into mine, and my breath caught in my throat. His voice was so soft, so seductive. My body craved the things I had denied it for my entire life. My mind could only think how nice it would be to be wrapped in his muscular arms, his lips brushing mine, kissing my neck.  
  
The moment passed with reluctance, he reached down with his hand and clasped mine loosely. He observed my hand like he'd never seen it before, and licked his lips nervously. "Is this ok?" I was shocked that he would even ask. He acted as though he was an inexperienced schoolboy on his first date. The thought that he should be so shy and sensitive made me only pine for him more. Instead of answering, I timidly brought my hand to the side of his face. The skin beneath my fingertips was warm and smooth. I brought my body forward. He did the same. Our faces were so close, I could feel the small trickle of air as he breathed out. My eyes were captured in his, together we closed them and our lips touched. He reached out and touched my hair, my cheek. The back of his fingers danced over my neck. The kiss became passionate in its fury, and my mind was lost.  
  
BAM! In our moment of infatuation we hadn't realized someone had opened the door until the person slammed it the rest of the way open. My eyes flew open only to stare into his. I pulled away unwillingly, my body resentful that his hands should fall away. Melinda stood there, jaw wide open, gaping. She let out a weak cry in disbelief at what she had seen. Then it happened. She snapped her jaw closed suddenly and stamped over to where he sat. Her hand was quick as lightning, the sound was sharp, solid as it connected with his face. She'd used full force, and as he brought his head back I could see a deep maroon colored mark begin to form where she'd hit him.  
  
"Melinda!" She turned to me, a fanatical look in her eyes. She began shaking her head in disbelief, then she spun back towards the door and ran. "Melinda!!" I looked apologetically at Brock before running after her.  
  
He sat, unmoving. A thousand warning lights were burning across his mind and he didn't know what to make of them. He hated Melinda for interrupting, and more for slapping him, but shouldn't he be thankful? He didn't want to know what could have happened if she hadn't caught them. Elise was just a girl for Christ's sake! What did he think he was doing anyhow? And asking to hold her hand? Fucking immature moron with a hard-on! Although, he wasn't sure it would have gone any farther than that anyways. But god every piece of him wanted to find out.  
  
Melinda stopped running half way down the hall. She turned and leaned heavily against the wall, her chest heaving, her face contorted trying to hold in the tears. Elise didn't know what to say. Finally she just blurted out what came to mind, "I wanted to kiss him. I was the one who made the first move to kiss even!"  
  
Melinda didn't look too surprised, instead she looked angry. Elise thought she was mad at her, until Melinda said, " I knew you wanted too. I could tell you were taken with him. I just knew. But he's the adult. He's supposed to be able to say, "Now wait a minute. I don't think this is right." But he didn't."  
  
It was my turn to be angry. "He was just as scared as I was! He asked me if holding my fucking hand was ok! And besides, I'm 19, it's my choice to make. I don't need you standing over me, deciding who I date and who I don't! It's not like I'm dating anybody anyways. We just kissed."  
  
"Oh come on. What is he, 27? 28? That's 9 years older than you. You and I both know you can do better than that."  
  
"Who are you saying I should go for then? Manny? Fucking NORMAN?!"  
  
"Why do you have to go for anybody? Why can't it just be like it was at the beginning of the trip?"  
  
"You want to know the truth about how it was at the beginning of the trip? Do you want to know what really happened? I'll tell you. Manny tried hitting on me within 10 minutes of my being alone with him, Brock attacked me when I went into the lower levels, and then after supper when I went into my room, Manny performed attempted assault on me." Melinda's eyes bulged and her mouth was open in a silent scream. "Brock at least stopped himself from doing more damage, and now we've obviously worked out our little problem. Manny on the other hand, would not have stopped, but I overcame him. I haven't spoken hardly a word to him since. I bet he's still brewing about how easily I beat him." Melinda's hands went up to her mouth, they were trembling slightly. "That was all on the first day. If things were like they were in the beginning, Manny might be dead. I don't allow someone who comes at me with a knife, attack twice and live."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me all of this? Those two should be in prison right now. And to think I've been living on a ship with the two of them for the last 5 weeks! Who knows if they might suddenly get the whim to come after one of the other people on this ship! I, I think maybe I should get off with Gregory."  
  
"No, no Melinda. Don't. Really. I have a strong belief that Manny won't try anything again, and I know Brock won't. Besides, you can't go on board that sea ship without a ticket."  
  
Melinda shoved off from the wall and began pacing. "How can you be so sure Brock won't attack again? You've gotta know a man his size isn't going to be afraid of any of us."  
  
"He's not the kind of guy to attack without good reason."  
  
"Oh please, and what reason could he possibly have for attacking you, when he didn't even know you?"  
  
"Well, for one, I was trying to sneak up on him. And for two, I was searching through some of the stuff down there." She purposely avoided telling her it was her own bag she was inquiring into. Melinda looked doubtful. "Come on Melinda. You can't kill the guy just cause he's a little on edge." She rolled her eyes, but she was calmer.  
  
"What do you want with a guy like that anyways? He's not even cute." Elise could tell it was her last line of defense, and a pathetic one at that. It made her laugh, and then Melinda caught on. The two hugged. "So, how long has this, this thing been going on?"  
  
"Uh, that was the first time we even held hands. I didn't know he felt that way until then."  
  
"I'm really sorry."  
  
Melinda was startled by a sudden short burst of laughter from Elise. "You're telling me your sorry, what about Brock? You slapped him pretty hard back there."  
  
"Oh no, wow, I forgot about that. Well, you know what? I'm just not sorry about that. I still firmly believe that it was wrong for him to let things go that far."  
  
"Jesus Melinda, I thought we just went through this. What are you going to do if I go back and we go farther?"  
  
"Nothing, but only because we're friends. If he's really pissed about it, you can tell him it's for all the things you're going to do later." Elise was tired of arguing, and she didn't know how else to explain it to Melinda.  
  
  
  
-Hey guys, I know this is a little unlike Riddick. But it's part of how my character is developing. Now I'm going to post a different part of the story. Lets say the other half, the part that sets up a plot to this whole thing. But bare with me, there won't be much Riddick for the next few chapt.s! (Oh, and please review….I need encouragement!) 


	9. Section 1(P2):Bishams Finest

PART II:  
  
Section 1: Bisham's Finest  
  
  
  
The smell was ghastly and somewhat nauseating. Not the sweet, sour smell of clean sweat, but the intoxicating smell of old liquor and unwashed bodies pressing against each other. The music had a loud, echoing sound in the large room. It was that techno crap of the new age type music, not really interesting, mostly just there to give the mindless sheep something to dance to and someone to give there money to. Only the self-righteous youths were without drink. Most had had their first drink when they came in. Some lonely bachelor would be sure to buy himself as well as his sex interest a tipple. Margaritas were the obvious pick of the lot. All of the veterans in the club had their clique surrounding them in a tightly packed corner of the massive room. So many strobe lights and shiny reflectors sprinkled the ceiling and walls, it was a wonder people didn't go home with burnt retinas at the end of the night. Illegal was an unheard of word in this messy world of drugs, sex, and alcohol. A club among clubs, only the most prominent of the social classes were allowed in. There was no point in trying to get in with a fake I.D. Age doesn't matter in places like that. Just come with the right person and you're in.  
  
There was a very respectable amount of business being passed in the rooms in the back. One of the more pronounced being Jack Vincent's arrangement on the balcony. A mighty heavy load of cocaine and heroin has been passed up and down those stairs in his lifetime, including the latest, "Hex". His father was closely related to the local mob, and on the basis of immunity to the police he began a simple business that was only illegal if you asked those who were bitter for being turned away. After a considerable amount of time, things became extremely complicated for such a simple man, and soon his employees did not consist of just his closest friends, but anyone he could find. Some were even junkies who were just looking for a quick easy way to always have a supply. Many of these junkies just happen to have been the clients of competitors. Most had been turned away because they were too needy and never had the money to front. Some became resentful of their old suppliers, but a surprising amount made deals to repay the cash they owed. These deals involved the downfall of Frank Vincent's up and coming business. All in all, it became quite the impossible task to tell where loyalties lie and how deep they plunged.  
  
So Jack Vincent has decided that, after seeing his father run "the business", and then lose it, he ought to try the entrepreneur business. To the surprise of his father's old friends, within three years of business he somehow found himself in the back of a well-to-do club running scams on the local law enforcement. Within five years he was in the balcony with several hundred thousand dollars in the bank behind the wall at all times. It came to be that Jack was decidedly better at "the business" than the late Frank Vincent. Sure, the business wasn't clean, but Jack was fair with his money, the merchandise was top of the line, and best of all, there was much effort put into never leaving traces.  
  
One might wonder how such a large business could go unnoticed and untouched. Well, if you have the right front, you're on the easy streak. Jack has always been a fan of the arts. He sponsored an academy for those talented individuals that go unacknowledged in the crazy whirlwind of education, such as painters, sculptors, musicians, poets, and writers. The academy's name was ADA-the Academy for Developing Arts.  
  
He was a writer himself, and would frequently give lectures at the academy. His personal bodyguards would accompany him, and business would be done on the campus. Mostly the kids were into Hex. Injected into the tear duct, it was virtually impossible to detect without taking blood tests, and without just cause, the school could not perform this test on the students. The academy was Jacks lab rat, a place to test all of his new drugs. Up until Hex, all other drugs caused hallucinations, the inability to function properly, or had other noticeable effects on the students. Hex was more along the lines of a strong, addictive pick-me-upper that allowed the students to continue their studies. When a person subjected to Hex becomes addicted, they become more and more often depressed, therefore, buying larger quantities more often.  
  
To the students, Hex was "the smart drug" because they seemed to absorb more of the information thrown at them. A small hit in the morning and they were instantly awake and alert. The drug was expensive, but many of the students going there had parents who were loaded up to their armpits in money. Some parents had sent their children away in the first place because it was easier not to feel guilty about not speaking to them, if sending money could fill that gap than so be it. These are the same parents that feel their children deserve the money for picking up their grades so much. Then there were the parental units that would send their children money just for the sake of looking gracious, when really they just wanted the kids out of their hair.  
  
Hex was also among the top picks in Club Cahoon, where Jacks business is. The perfect party drug, Hex was only addictive if you took it often in the first place. To a nighttime high-flyer at the club, Hex allowed them to dance and go crazy until they literally collapsed. Traces of Hex are cleared of the system within 10 hours. If taken again before the system clears itself, the clearance time is doubled, making it 20 hours. If taken again before that time is up, the user has now developed a small but curable addiction, and clearance is now 30 hours. Taking more adds both to the addiction and clearance time, a combination that makes turning back almost impossible to achieve.  
  
Up until nearly 6 months ago, Hex was sold solely on Bisham, but certain ingredients needed were only accessible from other planets, ones where the government had less control over the people. Jack's contacts on these planets naturally wanted a slice of the pie, and the selling of the drug became more renowned. Up until 3 months ago, the drug was undiscovered by the govt. Then the local cops raided a cargo ship on its way to another drop off spot, and Hex was discovered. Now the only way to retrieve these ingredients anywhere is by people transport ships. Mixed in among the luggage and supplies needed for the trip are regular looking boxes that are in fact miniature cooling units used to keep the chemicals fresh but inactive. Any pilot who is looking for some extra cash only has to label these boxes as his own cargo, and then pay the customs official some small hush-hush money to squeak the boxes by. Jack Vincent's problem is that there are only so many pilots willing to take the risk, and there are only a special few who know the way to Bisham in the first place since only new maps gave away the position of Bisham. 


End file.
